Passion is a funny thing.
I used to harbor the utmost passion for this artist. In actuality, we met as kids and the idea of passion was all that we thought of love. We met on the bus home from school. He was this massive entity with even more massive hair stuffed under a pair of headphones. The oh-so-relentless flirt I was at 16 didn’t hesitate to sit beside him, tap him and question “What are you listening to?” And if his answer had been anything but Talib Kweli I don’t think we would have had much more to say to each other. And then I met him again as a young woman and again, he became a vital component to my artistry. Every year since we’ve met he’s helped me, both directly and indirectly, weed out the garden of my life. I always knew I could run to him with a poem, even at 17, a decade ago, at any moment, day or night. I knew I could ask him to introduce me to something fresh, some new art whether on canvas, or vinyl and he’d change my life, yet again. He is the reason I am who I am today, and he doesn’t even know it.
That’s all fine and well, though. He doesn’t have to know in order to continue to be the reason I continue…
He is the artist for whom I have made myself the Muse.